New Day

woke up today and the air felt different.

Not dramatically, not like some life-changing movie moment, just a quiet kind of gentleness.

Like something inside my chest had finally loosened its grip.

Like there was actually room behind my ribs to breathe.

And I know it’s because yesterday I let myself feel everything.

Not the filtered version.

Not the version that makes other people comfortable.

I didn’t try to swallow it or smooth it out or shrink it into a neat explanation.

I just felt it.

I let it be big and real and uncomfortable.

I cried. I got still. I let my thoughts wander without trying to cage them.

I didn’t try to fix myself.

I just sat with myself.

And waking up today, it feels like my body believed me for once.

Like it heard me say we don’t have to hold it all alone or all at once.

There’s a kind of peace in that I’m still getting used to.

Being intuitive, being someone who feels everything before it’s spoken, used to feel like a burden.

Like carrying a map no one else could read.

Like I was always arriving to the truth too soon.

But today it doesn’t feel like something I need to apologize for.

Today it just feels like who I am.

And I’m not running from that.

When things get overwhelming, I’m learning what actually brings me back to myself.

My kids laughing in that loud, full-belly way that turns the whole room warm.

The sunlight in my kitchen, slow and soft across the counter, like the world saying take your time.

Friends who send chaotic memes and then follow up with “No really, how’s your heart?”

Good weed that doesn’t make me disappear, but helps me land inside myself again at a pace my body can handle.

And the budtenders.

The real ones.

The ones who look you in the eyes and actually see you.

Who ask how your day is going and mean it.

Human medicine in hoodies and name tags.

No performance.

Just presence.

Just people being people in a gentle way.

Those moments matter.

Not loud, dramatic, life-changing things.

Just small, steady reminders that the world is still softer than I sometimes remember.

So today I’m not trying to reinvent myself or reach for some big breakthrough.

I’m just here.

In my life.

In my body.

With what I feel and with what I’ve learned to let go of.

And I’m really proud of that.

Not in a loud way.

Just quietly, in my chest, where things finally feel like they’re moving in the right direction.

Today, I’m here.

And that’s enough.